Chapter 386

Chapter 386: Victory Without Battle

"No!" From the distant edge of the arena, Ice Hand’s partner Blood Hand roared with anger, lunging forward to save his companion.

But several mages from the Wolfspider tribe instantly restrained him, freezing him in place.

Nobody paid attention to this minor disturbance. As the black Fire Sea mercilessly consumed Ice Hand, every spectator—regardless of status, identity, or race—stared fixedly at Midi.

Who was this guy?

Most couldn’t help but wonder.

Truthfully, an Ice Mage of Ice Hand’s level wasn’t even considered first-rate in the Shaded Realm. Zaknavan, a sword soul among melee professions, could also defeat Ice Hand decisively.

But such a victory required meticulous planning and precise skill combinations to deliver the final blow.

Exploiting strengths and targeting weaknesses—this was logical, acceptable combat.

Midi’s victory, however, defied all reason. It was chaotic, tyrannical, and savage!

From start to finish, he used only one skill: the Asura’s "Explosive Flame Wave Sword."

He never moved from his spot, not even half a step.

There was no technique, no strategy—just relentless bombardment until his opponent collapsed.

And he won.

Not merely a victory, but total annihilation.

This wasn’t just domineering—it was illogical madness.

Too brutal!

How could anyone accept this?

Many dark elves wanted to dismiss it as mindless brute force, attributing his wins to sheer luck. Yet the words died on their tongues.

Midi had crushed the Lizardman, the half-giant, and now Ice Hand—all through raw power. Against melee fighters, he overwhelmed them with a storm-like longsword. Against magic users, he drowned them in explosive spells. Though his methods lacked finesse, his unstoppable momentum hinted at terrifying strength.

Bound by their law of survival of the fittest, the dark elves and other races of the Shaded Realm reluctantly acknowledged this human standing like a war god before them—a true expert.

Meanwhile, a stifled gasp came from the arena’s corner.

"Midi Asreks!" Mason muttered, emotions flickering in his eyes.

He’d been watching since Midi clashed with Ice Hand. But between the fiery bursts, icy fragments, black smoke, and mist, even a roaming gunslinger’s vision couldn’t pierce the chaos.

Only when the smoke cleared did Mason finally see the human’s face—and the sight stunned him. Moments earlier, he’d dismissed Midi as no threat after witnessing the half-giant’s defeat. Now, recognizing the man before him, Mason fell silent.

A few years ago, Mason had lost to Midi despite being several levels higher, even having both arms severed in their duel. After escaping to the Shaded Realm, the black dragon priestesses paid heavy costs to regenerate his hands.

Though years passed, Mason’s advancement remained stunted at level 60. The bitter memory of that crushing defeat still burned fresh in his mind.

Seeing the source of his torment standing before him now, fear, anger, unease, and confusion surged through Mason’s heart. Rationally, he wanted no conflict with this unpredictable opponent. The current Midi not only matched his level but revealed a savage combat style far removed from their previous encounter – more primal and terrifying.

Yet emotionally, Mason thirsted for vengeance. Who wouldn’t desire to crush the man who took their arms? More puzzling was why Midi Asreks, king of Belmar Kingdom, would abandon his throne to become a Wolfspider tribe slave in the Shaded Realm.

Was Midi pursuing him? Mason quickly dismissed the notion. He refused to overvalue his own importance. The truth could only be found through direct confrontation – during the upcoming championship match.

"Beating Ice Hand was one thing," Mason muttered, shaking his head. "But how long can this reckless approach last?"

The roaming gunslinger’s sharp eyes saw clearly: though Midi had obliterated his opponent through brute force, the cost proved steep.

Firing twin Exploding Flame Orbs simultaneously demanded intense focus and heavy magic consumption. For Midi’s first attempt, inefficiency compounded the drain – each dual shot burned through magic equivalent to four standard Explosive Flame Wave Swords. To achieve doubled firepower speed, he’d paid double the magic cost.

Breaking Ice Hand’s defenses required further enhancements – accelerated casting, maximized potency, and demon arrays laid mid-battle. Even with the Spirit Dragon Sword, Midi’s magic reserves neared empty after this frenzied assault.

As a Demon Swordman rooted in demon god powers, his pure magic wasn’t meant for large-scale bombardments. Yet through this trial, his magic underwent unexpected refinement – not through external absorption, but internal tempering under extreme pressure.

The Shaded Realm’s Dark Magic already held high purity, but Midi discovered his compressed reserves now surpassed even this environment’s standards. Had his body stored such refined magic earlier, he might’ve finished the battle with reserves to spare.

But "might’ve" meant nothing now. At this moment, Midi’s magic stood completely exhausted.

The new round of selection had already begun.

"Red Nine versus Red Five!"

The judge’s voice echoed through the arena.

This was the final round of the points competition.

Red Five, a dark elf assassin of average strength within the team, stood as Midi’s last opponent.

Under the crowd’s watchful eyes, Midi dragged his feet onto the magic-repaired arena. He made no effort to hide his exhaustion, collapsing onto the floor without bothering to stand. His steady gaze locked onto the dark elf assassin.

"My magic is completely drained," Midi stated calmly. "This is your best opportunity – perhaps your only chance to defeat or kill me."

Murmurs swept through the stands. Even the slave warriors buzzed with surprise at his bluntness. What scheme was he plotting now? This question burned in every spectator’s mind.

Unfazed by the chatter, Midi smiled faintly and added, "But know this – even without magic, I won’t surrender quietly. Show any killing intent, and I’ll fight to destroy you."

"The choice to attack me at my weakest is yours." With these final words, Midi closed his eyes and began Meditation, openly restoring his strength on the battle platform.

Across the arena, the dark elf assassin’s face twisted with conflict. Killing this fearsome human could bring instant fame. As a slave warrior desperate for top-five ranking and freedom, he ached to stab his dagger through Midi’s heart.

Yet attempting it meant facing certain counterattack. Could his agile frame survive even one strike from Midi’s longsword? Though the human’s magic was spent, the assassin remembered how Midi had blasted Ice Hand with chain explosions, then slaughtered the half-giant with brutal efficiency.

Life versus glory. The warring thoughts paralyzed the assassin. He remained statue-still, terrified any movement might provoke attack.

"Kill him! I’ll give all my contribution points!" Blood Hand’s roar erupted from the stands. The dark elf Demon Swordman glared at Midi with venomous hatred.

Instead of spurring action, this angry outburst cleared the assassin’s mind. After brief consideration, he turned to the judge and shouted, "I forfeit!"

Midi won the final points competition round without battle, securing eight points and the red group’s top position. His path to the championship match was clear.